A New Experiment
by FH96
Summary: Holmes needs someone to love. He's drunk. What's a half mad inspector to do with his doctor friend? PLEASE R


The sweet scent of tobacco was wafting gently throughout Holmes' room, for a thought had come to his mind. Holmes always needed a smoke when his wheels were turning (how ever un-often that may have been). The only present alternative was alcohol, but he was fresh out of his favorite scotch, and would not have more until Watson returned from the market. The door to apartment 221B was suddenly flung open, and Watson's Oxford leather shoes could be heard thumping up the oaken stairs to the inspector's tobacco-ridden lair.

"Holmes!" Watson's chirpy voice sounded outside his bedroom door, just a whiff of anxiety in the doctor's protest.

Holmes hopped off of the feather bed within, reluctantly of course, to sluggishly lumber over to the door. Holmes opened the maple slab slightly, peeking an eye through the crevice between the two of them.

"Holmes! You know it's me!" Watson glared at his friend, "Just open the god damned door already!" Sherlock rolled his eyes and, giving his friend a sardonic look, peeled the door open just enough for the skinny fellow to pass through.

John looked around Sherlock's room. His many bottles lay strewn about the floor, the one most recently emptied, dripping nonchalantly onto the carpet.

"Strange," he said, smirking slightly, "there's usually nothing left to drip." Watson shrugged off his coat and turned back to Holmes, suddenly remembering why he was there in the first place.

"Holmes! I have something for you! I think you will thoroughly enjoy it."

"Is it more scotch? Or did you buy brandy?" A wide-eyed Holmes searched Watson eagerly for a package or bottle of sorts, "I'm quite alright with either, but I would prefer scotch." He began to ponder on the thought, "To be honest, I have a craving for whiskey."

"This is more important than your alcohol, Holmes," Watson said in a chiding manor.

"What could ever be more important than alcohol?" he asked, giving the man a questioning look.

"Simple," Watson replied,"I have a case for you."

"You, sir, are mad. I cannot solve another case again; they are finally getting to me. Driving me up the wall, Watson, UP THE WALL!" Holmes slammed his knees to the floor at Watson's feet, grabbing at the loose ends of the doctor's shirt.

"Get up you goof, you've used that excuse one too many times on me," Watson tugged at the cuff of his comrade's jacket, yanking him into a stance only inches away from the doctor's quivering lips.

"Oh I have now?" Holmes smirked, a twinge of craftiness in his voice. The inspector closed his eyes, breathing onto Watson's exposed neck. The doctor squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to somehow escape the inevitable.

Holmes' stubble brushed roughly on the doctor's cheek, feeling his friend's muscles clench and contort with every intimate move he performed. Sherlock pressed himself closer to John, body heat from both of them intensifying as the rendezvous continued. In one fleeting moment, Holmes closed the space between their faces, his chapped, calloused lips meeting the doctor's medicated, soft mouth before he could have any protest.

But no protest came. The two fell into the kiss, though it was still evident that the doctor was uncomfortable with his comrade's decision. It was quite confusing to him, really, how their conversation had taken this unexpected route. But as he continued to think on his current actions, it dawned on him that was he was doing was not unpleasant, rather enjoyable. He suddenly met the kiss with a passion equivalent to Sherlock's, catching the scruffy detective off guard.

The smell of alcohol and cigar smoke was lingering on Holmes' lips, and Watson let the scent enter his every pore as he leaned in. Holmes, on the other hand, could catch whiffs of peppermint and cologne on the doctor, and he stood on the tips of his feet to reach closer, meet the doctor whose height exceeded his by inches. Only pulling away just enough to breathe, they maintained their kiss for what seemed like an eternity.

Sherlock melted into his friend's embrace. He'd so needed that feeling of intimacy again, and he never, ever wanted to let it go. He clung to Watson tightly, inhaling his crisp perfumes of peppermint and sweet cologne. Sherlock entwined his fingers into the doctor's, smiling into yet another breathless kiss. Holmes again pressed himself against Watson, wanting the full extremes of his body heat on a chilly evening like this one. The two of them tenderly managed their way to sit on the bed, beckoning with its soft goose feathers and woolen blankets.

Holmes' smirked at the virginity of Watson's actions. The small moves he made, like feeling up the inspector's back, or tracing circles on the tops of his hands. Sherlock suddenly broke away, eager to ask a dire question on his mind.

"You've not lain with your wife, have you?"

"What?" Watson's eyes shifted and he laughed nervously. "Of course I've consummated my marriage. That's preposterous!"

"What is it then?

"Well…" Watson searched the room as if looking for an escape route. "I've never slept with… a man…. And certainly not my best friend. Practically my brother, really!"

"No, neither have I." Holmes seemed rather calm about it. "But you know how I enjoy my experiments." He leaned in for another kiss, but Watson was not quick to join in. He jumped from the bed and started towards his jacket.

"This is wrong," he mumbled. "I can't do this with you. Plus, you're drunk, you aren't thinking straight."

Holmes laughed heartily. "For one, I think much more clearly when I _am_ drunk, so that statement is false. And second, you aren't drunk, so really you were the one taking advantage of me. Trying to sleep with a drunk person is morally wrong Watson."

"Oh contraire old boy! You, of all people, would be the one sitting here, drunk on god knows what, kissing me, your comrade. So, why not come to the somber agreement that both of us are insane and," Watson tried to regain his senses,"continue this charade another time?"

"Quite right!" Holmes chuckled manically, dragging John back to where they'd left off. his lips fell back onto the doctor's in a transient moment, reawakening his friend's inner intimacy. Sherlock quickly managed his hands under his friend's shirt, tenderly sliding his work-ridden mitts up and down the doctor's back. Watson tensed, knowing full how wrong this was. He shook the feeling off as soon as Holmes began making his way to Watson's neck, leaving hickeys here and there.

Holmes pinched skin continuously between his teeth, giggling silently with every twitch John made in response. Oh how he loved to torture his friend. Sherlock stopped abruptly, feeling Watson's hands beginning to move from the solitary spot on his back that they'd remained on this entire period. Holmes' shirt was slowly peeled away, exposing his bare chest to the doctor.

"Let's examine now, shall we old chap?" Watson's eyes suddenly lit up as he whispered this into Holmes' neck.


End file.
